


Exquisite

by Chierei



Series: Exquisite [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Ed is a creeper, Explicit Sexual Content, Illustrated, Lace Panties, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Medical Kink, Sexual Fantasy, mild dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: Ed discovers what Mr. Penguin has been hiding under those suits when he rescues him from the woods.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Exquisite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642549
Comments: 97
Kudos: 213





	1. Chapter 1

When Ed had found an injured Penguin in the forest and brought him home, this wasn’t what he had expected. Ed wrinkled his nose at the smell—iron and mud mixed in this a sour tinge from whatever he had tracked in from the forest. He had no idea how long the man had been out there, though, but the dirt on his clothes was doing his wound no favors. He was lucky if an infection hadn’t yet settled in.

Ed pulled on a fresh pair of gloves—nitrile since he was unsure if Mr. Penguin might have a latex allergy—before carefully laying out his medical supplies onto the cart. He had never used any of it for its intended purpose before, but he was well-versed enough in anatomy that he was confident he would be able to treat the injured man.

Ed pulled out his pair of trauma shears first, cutting along the shoulder seams of the suit jacket. It was a shame to destroy the undoubtedly expensive attire, but he wanted to leave the shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

And it smelled.

He picked away at the layers of clothes, brushing them to the floor for later disposal and then—

Stared.

Oh...my.

Ed hadn’t ever put too much thought in undergarments—his own were utilitarian and functional. His only other experience had been with Miss Kringle, who had shared the sentiment, though hers were soft cotton with light feminine edging. He would have assumed Mr. Penguin might have something more luxurious, something satin or silk in dark colors that befitted them. But this—this—

Ed brushed his fingertips against the thin strap of the purple bralette, the shine of the satin strap a stark contrast against pale skin. Ed’s eyes roved over the small triangles of lace, tracing the inner edges of the scalloped lace giving the illusion of faint curves before catching sight of the dark pink of the man’s areolas barely seen through the panels of lace. The band sat flush just below his chest, and Ed felt his mouth go dry.

Even with almost half of it soaked in drying blood, it was _exquisite_.

Ed’s gloved hands hovered over the man, wanting and curious. He let his eyes trail downward, stopping at the thick black belt. His hands trembled as he undid the belt, pulling it aside before using the shears to cut through the trousers, taking extra care around the man’s damaged leg.

And yes, as he expected from Mr. Penguin. The man had an exceptional sense of style, and his choice of undergarments was no different.

The matching pair of lace panties barely protected the man’s modesty, riding low on his hips. The sides were a matching purple, giving a tantalizing glimpse of skin, with the front panel replaced with black lace that was barely large enough to contain the man.

Ed took a deep breath, shaking. “Focus, Ed,” he told himself, exhaling loudly. “Focus.”

He knew he should cut through the undergarments, but they were mostly intact, and it would be a shame to ruin them when he didn’t need to. He slipped his hands under the man, the skin to skin contact sending shivers down Ed’s spine as he unhooked the undergarment, deciding to leave the panties on for modesty’s sake.

Ed forced himself to concentrate on the wound. He cleaned it slowly and meticulously with antiseptic wipes, carefully navigating around the torn edges of flesh until he had a clean canvas to work with. The bleeding had slowed, mostly due to the coagulating blood, but started anew as Ed cleaned.

First things first: remove the bullet. Ed chose a pair of surgical tweezers, tilting his head to get a better look at the trajectory. He had never fished a round out from a live body before, and he would need to factor in other considerations such as not exacerbating the damage as he sought to extract it.

He found the bullet with little trouble, the small metal slug having been stopped against the man’s collarbone. He dropped it into a small tray, finally able to assess the damage better.

The edges were red and inflamed, the beginning of infection starting to settle in. He would have to give the man an injection of ceftriaxone in addition to re-up his fluids. The force of the bullet had left a large gash and would require stitches. Ed pressed his fingers along the outer edges, feeling along for any unseen damage. It was beautiful, in a way, poetic like a ragged blemish in an otherwise pristine work of art.

He stitched the wound up with a deft hand, trying to make each stitch as small and neat as possible. It would scar no matter what, but Ed wanted to minimize it as best he could. He wiped down the finished product with another wipe, determining it was the best he could do for now. He gently pressed a clean gauze pad over the wound, securing it down with medical tape and stripping off his gloves before stepping back to look at his handiwork.

His breath hitched. “Oh dear,” Ed said, taking in the full sight of the man. Now that he had cleaned the shoulder, it only made it apparent how much dirt had found its way onto the man. Any foreign bacteria would only jeopardize the healing process, so it would be best to clean Mr. Penguin thoroughly before moving forward.

He filled a bucket half-full of hot water, adding in a drizzle of gentle soap, before digging out a small stack of clean washcloths.

He started at the man’s face, spending several minutes carefully wiping away the blood from his cheeks. He brushed his fingers along the crevices of his face, searching for any remaining dust, the back of his knuckles brushing against his parted lips.

Ed shivered.

He took his time, slowly working downward and trailing the soft cloth from Mr. Penguin’s chin to down his neck. It was tantalizing, watching the slow rise and fall of the man’s chest and to be able to feel all the dips of muscle and tendon. Every touch to his skin felt like it burned, even the slow clinical motions to wipe the underside of the man’s arms.

He only paused once he reached the man’s hips, the washcloth still pressed against the soft of his stomach. It was...logical to clean the man everywhere to help stave off a worse infection.

His hands hovered for a second over the unconscious man’s hips before he looped his fingers around the scalloped edges of the lace and slowly worked them down his legs, dropping them on top of the pile of discarded and tattered clothes.

Mr. Penguin’s flaccid cock was nestled in a neatly trimmed thatch of black curls. It was, to Ed’s visual observation, of average size and width, perhaps slightly wider, but Ed wouldn’t be able to confirm without further inspection. He was uncircumcised, and Ed wondered how it would feel in his hand, the extra fold of skin, how it would taste.

He picked up the washcloth again, squeezing out excess water, before running it over the newly exposed hipbone, hand itching closer. Ed’s breathing quickened as he gingerly lifted the flaccid organ with one hand to clean it. He forced himself to keep breathing before he dipped his hand down further, trailing the fabric along, thinking about how the only thing separately his skin from Mr. Penguin’s was just a strip of cloth.

He felt a hot, heavy flutter in his stomach as he finished cleaning the man. He stripped off his gloves, tossing them away before he emptied the tub of dirty water into the sink. He should finish wrapping the wound and find spare clothes for the man to wear, he knew.

But when he turned and saw the body, illuminated by his overhead lights like a gift made for him, he hesitated. It was...wrong, he knew. He had discovered that long ago that it was socially inappropriate to examine another’s body without their permission—it was part of the reason he had chosen forensic pathology; the dead had no qualms with sharing their secrets.

Everything until now had been for medical purposes, to ensure the safest and fastest healing for the man. But this...this, if he did this, would be just for Ed.

Ed bit his nail in thought. He shouldn’t, but…

_When will we ever get this chance again? He doesn’t have to know._

Ed hated when the voice was right. He grabbed a new notebook from a box, small and palm-sized like he favored, and his favorite pen that wrote in smooth emerald ink and edged with gold filigree. He slipped a new cassette tape into his handheld recorder before donning another pair of gloves. Just a moment, a few things for his records; it couldn’t hurt.

He started with the basics, knowing that they would be a poor baseline for the future given the injury and blossoming infection, but still dutifully wrote down his temperature and blood pressure. He estimated his weight and height, already knowing from carrying the man that he was bordering on underweight.

He lifted one arm, turning his wrist up so he could press his thumb to the underside. He counted under his breath as he watched his watch before scribbling down his heart rate. “Heart rate is slightly elevated as expected at seventy-two beats per minute measured via radial pulse,” he said into the recorder. He repeated the process with two fingers pressed against his throat, dipping his fingers to trace to the hollow of his throat before pulling away.

“Sorry, Mr. Penguin,” Ed said to the unconscious man as he slipped in the earpiece of the stethoscope. “This might be a little cold.” He breathed on the metal of the diaphragm to warm it slightly before settling it on the man’s chest. He laid his opposite hand flat on his stomach, fingers splayed, as he listened to the lub-dup of the man’s heartbeat. “Heart sounds appear normal, no indication of difficulties regarding ventricular contraction or closure of aortic and pulmonary valves. The subject has audible vibration of the ventricular wall that can be audible every third cycle,” he said into the recorder even as he ran his flat palm up from his stomach to his chest, his thumb brushing a pebbled nipple. The feeling, sensation, made his voice jolt to an embarrassingly high squeak at the end of his recording.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. He wanted to take his time, to savor this experience.

He didn’t know how long he spent, recording or writing observations on the most fascinating man he had ever met. He needed to know and document everything, take little pieces that he could keep and remember forever. He wished he had his camera, imagining a collage of Mr. Penguin, marked and labeled and measured.

He contented himself with noting and writing down everything he could. Everything from the location, size, and color of a mole just below the man’s left armpit to counting the number of freckles on the man’s cheekbones. He sketched the shape of the birthmark he found on the underside of the man’s right thigh. He wrote down every scar and every deduction he could make—from the jagged scar caused by a serrated knife and treated with sloppy stitches to the scrape of skin under an elbow that was smoothed by age. He wondered how the texture would feel under his tongue, the taste of salt and the scent of clean skin.

He shivered. He closed his notebook, setting it down so he could lean heavily on the counter, his breathing short and gasping. The heat that had been pooling low in his body over the last hour had grown and was spilling over into desperate want.

He caught sight of the two pieces of lace discarded on the floor, and he didn’t know what possessed him to pick them up. He stared at them in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the lacy edge and remembering how it felt when he had taken them off Mr. Penguin—the warmth of his skin under his knuckles and the reveal of fresh skin. He remembered how they looked on the man, the bralette not hiding the perk of his nipples or how the panties had ridden low to show a peak of hair over the waistband.

And the smell of the man…

Ed brought the purple briefs up to his face, inhaling the scent of salt and iron and musk. These had been touching Mr. Penguin, cupping his most intimate areas.

An image flashed through Ed’s mind—a thought—of Mr. Penguin wearing these under his suit that day they had first met—when Ed had seen him from across the room and had to know, had to meet this incredible man when he had the chance. He remembered how he had looked at Ed, craning his head up to see him yet somehow still looking down at him. Ed pictured him wearing nothing but these scraps of lace, imperious and every bit of a king, standing before him at the GCPD.

Ed didn’t know when he had undone his pants and slipped his hand inside, the lace bralette still wrapped around his palm as he dragged it over his cock. He was hard, almost painfully so, and he pulled himself out of pants with shaking fingers. The head of his cock was leaking, providing enough lubricant so Ed could wrap his hand around himself, stroking himself at the thought, the fantasy.

He pictured Mr. Penguin’s face when he asked Ed what he wanted. Ed imagined that he had answered with something different, that he asked to run his hands over his body and feel the soft lace; that he wanted to lick the small hard pebbles of his nipples or slip his fingers into him, warm and tight.

The image changed, and now it was deep storm eyes looking up at him from between his legs, hand running up his thigh. _Is that all you want, Mr. Nygma?_ Mr. Penguin would say, his hands, _those hands_ cupping Ed through his pants as a strap of the bralette fell down his shoulder, exposing another thin strip of freckled skin.

 _Yes, yes,_ Ed would say, pressing a hand into the man’s hair. It was soft and silken like a baby bird and smelled like lavender and gunpowder.

Ed pressed his nose deeper into the lace, inhaling deeply as his other hand picked up the pace. He pressed his head down, so he was resting his forehead rested Mr. Penguin’s chest, and the touch made his cock jump. He wanted he wanted he wanted.

And Mr. Penguin would open his mouth, slip his tongue out from those red lips to give the top of Ed’s cock small kittenish laps. Ed pictured how those lips would look spread wide, Ed’s cock pushed down his throat and those beautiful eyes watering, and Ed’s pressing the heel of his shoe against the lace-clad groin as the man rutted against him and—and—

Ed came with a shout, biting down on his hand to contain himself as his hand continued to work himself through the orgasm. When finished, he slumped, feeling boneless with his head cradled in the unconscious man’s chest as he took long, heavy breaths. He could smell Mr. Penguin this close, the faint scent of antiseptic and fresh gauze.

He finally looked down at his hand and the bralette, both covered with long streaks of his come and the rest splattered on the floor. He blushed. He couldn’t believe he had just—

He hastily tossed both garments into the laundry hamper, tucking it under the day-old shirt to hide it from sight and cleaned himself up. It was—it was inappropriate, it was—

It was amazing. Exhilarating.

Ed laughed, the sound wide and manic. It felt like when he had slid a knife through Officer Dougherty’s ribs or when he had slid the saw in between Miss Kringle’s joints. It made the blood in his veins feel like molten fire, and he felt so, so alive.

He looked down at the man, cupping his face with one hand. “Oh, Mr. Penguin,” he said, grinning. “Do you believe in fate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame this 100% on the [Discord server](https://discord.gg/nvgXPHk). So...yeah. I hope you filthy animals enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, because I skipped class to write it. 
> 
> Please spare a moment to leave me your thoughts in the comments! <3


	2. Chapter 2

The days dragged by in Arkham at an excruciating pace. While the removal of Hugo Strange as the head was welcome—what, with him being an absolute lunatic of a scientist—it was the start of the slow decline of the place. The lapses in staff and cleanliness being at the forefront of that, while the quality of the food had been average at best, Ed is pretty sure he could have found food in the garbage that was better.

The only thing he had to look forward to was the regular visits from Mr. Penguin—Oswald, Ed corrected himself.

The man had visited him with a varying frequency, though it was, on average, every fifteen days with a standard deviation of two-point-two days on either end. Ed received packages and letters from him in the weeks in-between—messy grumblings about incompetent fools accompanied by small comforts: books when he complained of boredom or a pair of gloves when Ed had shivered once in the visiting room.

And every time Ed saw him, Ed wondered if he was wearing _them_. He wondered what he’d find if he looked under those perfectly tailored suit, what color lace he would choose each day. Maybe blue on some days to match his or red if he was feeling daring and wanted to coordinate with his pocket square, Ed imagined. Sometimes, he liked to picture the man in a lace garter belt wrapped around that slim waist, holding up dark sheer stockings with a ruffle of black ribbon lining the top, liked to think about that narrow strip of skin that would show between stockings and panties, a tantalizing tease.

And the man himself—Ed didn’t know how to feel about him. Half the time, Ed thought Oswald was flirting with him, looking at Ed with those big eyes and long lashes. The man would giggle as they talked, looking coy and inviting, and it made Ed want to reach over to bite those lips until they bled.

But Oswald never touched him; never brushed his hand against Ed’s arm or even reached for a handshake. Instead, sometimes Ed would feel the edge of his wingtips brushing against his calves from under the table, and he’d _swear_ that Oswald was giving him a coquettish smile.

Ed left most of his visits half-hard, wanting nothing more than to take himself in hand until he could bring himself to completion. But self-pleasure was one of the things that Arkham had taken from him. Every time he tried, his mind would catch up to the screams and pounding on the walls, the eyes of guards and staff, and he’d stop, feeling ashamed, embarrassed, and frustrated.

It was driving him just as mad as being caged in was, just as mad as the idle hours that made Ed want to tear into his brain so he could _stop thinking_ for just one moment.

“Package,” a gruff voice said, knocking on the door with one massive, gorilla-sized fist. Ed jumped up from where he was lying on his bed to receive it, barely catching the package in time to keep it from dropping to the floor. The box was open as it always was, the tape slit messily—everything was checked by guards before being sent to the inmates, and Ed could see the torn green tissue paper over on top that still obscured its contents. Ed leveled a glare at the guard behind his back, biting back an insult.

Ed settled himself on the creaky bed, running his hands over the sides of the cardboard box almost reverently. He always wondered if Oswald packaged these himself or sent out a minion to do it for him. He took a steadying breath, grounding himself so he could savor the moment before carefully unwrapping his gift. These, other than Oswald’s visits, were the highlight of the week, a break in the monotony of the day-to-day dredge that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Ed parted the tissue paper to peek inside, removing the top item—a round aluminum tin that was filled with a dozen bakery-perfect snickerdoodles. He smiled, looking at them—Oswald had mentioned a new bakery the week prior. He wondered if the man had asked around for his favorite cookie—not that Ed thought anyone actually knew—or if it was a lucky guess. He broke one in half, inhaling deeply at the warm scent of cinnamon. He nibbled on one of the halves, placing the other back inside to save for later.

Tucked under the tin had been a neatly folded sweater made of a delicately soft cashmere in Ed’s favorite deep green. Ed ran his hands over the fabric, focusing on the texture and soft whisps under his fingertips. He rubbed a sleeve against his cheek, biting back a soft moan at the feeling. He pictured Oswald doing the same, the fleecy wool against the man’s delicate skin.

The last item inside was a puzzle box. Ed cocked his head as he examined it, tilting it this way and that. A painfully easy puzzle box, in fact, but Ed appreciated the thought. He ripped gently peeled off the note that was taped to the top, and written on thick cream paper and in careful letters he read:

_For your leisure -O.C.C._

It didn’t take Ed more than a minute to solve the box; one of the emblems was raised a hair higher than the other side, giving away the starting point. He clicked the final lock open, and the box fell away to reveal—

Ed’s breath hitched as a spill of lace tumbled out from the center of the box. It wasn’t—it wasn’t _the one_ Ed had kept—hidden away in a hollowed-out leather-bound copy of _The History of Ornithology in Virginia_ with a myriad of newspaper clippings and a crumpled invitation he had pulled out from the trash. He had kept it, a dirty secret, that he pulled out on occasion. Ed had been loath to wash it, to rinse away the enticing smell of Oswald, but had been forced to after too many...uses. Ed could almost remember how it smelled and felt though, could close his eyes and remember how he could play back his recordings and remember that body laid out before him, every touch and taste and smell.

But this wasn’t _the one_. This one was black lace with a metallic gunmetal thread interwoven to give it a shine. It had a few extra straps over the front bralette, crisscrossing over the chest like restraints, but it was just as soft as the other. The panties had satin side panels and a small silver bow with two small crystal attached to the ends sewn in the middle, like the final touch to a present waiting to be opened.

Ed’s cock twitched at the sight even while his stomach dropped. Was this—did Oswald—? Did he _know_? Why would he—?

He brought them up to his face to sniff, and it smelled of a long-missed and often-dreamt of musk mixed with the faint hint of lavender. Ed bit his lip to hide a groan; this couldn’t be a coincidence.

Ed’s cock was hard in record time, his mind’s eye already painting a picture of Oswald in this. He imagined the suit Oswald would wear with it—vertical pinstripes with a gray tie secured into place with a diamond pin. He’d have a smirk on his face as he leaned on his cane or rested a shotgun over his shoulder, his hair coiffed and lashes long, casting shadows over his cheekbones.

Ed palmed himself through his pants, his breathing quickening.

Yes, Oswald strapped into the trappings of black ribbon and lace, the panties hugging his ass underneath those tailored pants. Oswald had a fantastic ass, Ed remembered, perky and round and would barely fit into these briefs. His cheeks would hang out, begging to be grabbed and massaged.

Ed pictured pushing Oswald into his office, backing him up as he stalked his prey. He licked his lips, eyes tightly shut as he lost himself in his fantasy, pressing the heel of his palm over his leaking erection.

 _Naughty boy,_ Ed would say to him, nipping at his ear. _Every gang leader in town was here. Do they know what you are wearing under this suit?_ Oswald would be hard for him, so hard that Ed would be able to feel it pressing against his thigh, imagined Oswald rutting against him. Ed pictured ripping the layers off of Oswald, piece by piece, until he stood in front of Ed clad in nothing than the skimpy lingerie, cock hard and straining out of the delicate lace trappings, the front soaked with pre-come.

 _Ed,_ Oswald would say, whimper. _Please, Ed._

Ed slipped his hand into his pants finally, unable to tease himself any longer. He curled his hand around gifted undergarments, just feeling the fabric in his palm. He imagined Oswald bent over the desk, ass red from spankings and perfectly framed by the lace edges, imagined the center creeping between his cheeks. He pictured the tears building in the corner of Oswald’s eyes and the way he would say, _please, Ed_.

Oswald would beg for him; he would beg so prettily until Ed couldn’t take it anymore. Ed would rip off the delicate panties, showing off Oswald’s leaking hard cock in its entirety and would moan when Ed would stroke him. Oswald would lean into his touch like he couldn’t live another second without Ed, so pretty and delicate—the part of the Penguin that no one else got to see.

Ed thumbed the tip of his cock, twisting his wrist in a motion that made him bite back another moan. He finally brought the lace up to his nose, breaking in the sent of Oswald and memorizing the feeling of the fabric against his cheeks and chin, imaging he was burying his face between those cheeks. He could picture the treasure buried between them, the dark little pucker that would flex and beg to be touched. Ed wanted to press his tongue into it, to taste Oswald inside and out.

 _Who do you belong to?_ Ed would say, teasing Oswald’s hole with the tip of his cock afterward, after he had opened the man up with his tongue and fingers, had reduced the man to tears.

Ed was so close, he was—

 _You, Ed. I belong to you,_ Oswald would say and—

Ed bit down on the panties, forcing down a scream as his orgasm rocketed out of him. He rocked his hips up in time with his strokes until he fell on his back, uncaring of his softening cock still jutting from the zipper of his pants or the cooling come on his hand.

 _I belong to you_ was all he heard in his mind.

_You, you, you._

* * *

When Oswald came to visit next week, Ed didn’t know what to think or say or do. The lace lingerie was folded carefully in his pocket, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from rubbing his hands over it each day. Ed wondered if Oswald would say anything, would acknowledge it—wondered if he knew.

_He had to know. He had to had to had to._

“And did you got the biscuits? And the sweater? I know how drafty these rooms are,” Oswald said, smiling shyly at Ed as he fussed over the contents of his last package.

“Mr. Penguin—Oswald,” Ed corrected at the man’s expectant look and who then brightened at the sound of his name. Ed wasn’t sure where he was going or what he was going to say, but he needed to say something or—

“How was the puzzle box?” Oswald said, and there was a drop in his tone. The eager tittering disappearing and replaced with something smooth and almost seductive, like bourbon and dark chocolate. “Did you solve it?” he asked, tilting his head down so he was looking at Ed from under his lashes.

Ed’s heart stuttered at the sight. His tie was a blur of cerulean, and Ed could picture the lingerie underneath; he imagined it matched perfectly, a sky blue and silver that would set off his eyes and would look beautiful with the man against cream satin sheets. “Yes,” he said, mouth dry and wishing for a glass of water.

“I hope it wasn’t too easy for you,” Oswald said, the edges of his mouth tilted up.

Ed forced himself not to moan, forced himself to answer in a way that wasn’t pushing the man over this very table and—“It was a lovely thought,” he said, voice flat as he controlled himself. His cock twitched, and Ed dug his fingernails into his thigh.

Oswald smirked, leaning forward. “I hope you savored it then,” he said, and there was no doubt in Ed’s mind that Oswald _knew_. Oswald knew and was teasing him, taunting him, stringing him along, and—

_Naughty boy is teasing us. Wants us to make him ours, wants us to mark him and hurt him and **ours**._

Ed matched his smirk, not willing to lose the little game that he only now realized they had been playing. “Oh, I did. I savored it for a _very_ long time. It was quite hard, but I wanted to stretch it out.” He stretched out his legs, just a little, just enough that his ankle brushed against the man’s calves before pulling back as though it was an accident.

Ed was rewarded by the lightest dusting of pink crawling up Oswald’s cheek and a startled little giggle. Ed set his elbows on the table, resting his head between his hands in a pose reminiscent of there evenings at 805 Grundy. “Do you want to hear a Riddle, Oswald?” Ed asked in a sing-song voice.

“Oh,” Oswald said faintly, angling himself closer. “Of course, friend.”

Ed leaned forward, licking his lips and watching how Oswald’s eyes followed the motion. His smirk broadened. “What goes in hard and comes out soft?” he asked in a low purr.

“What?” Oswald answered, not listening as he leaned forward, focused on everything about Ed except his words. Ed could see his dilated pupils from where he sat, could count the number of eyelashes he had, and the way he licked his lips.

Ed pulled back abruptly, smug. “What goes in hard and comes out soft, Oswald?” he asked.

Oswald blinked a few times, regaining himself, before blushing hotly. “Edward,” he screeched, scandalized, eyes darting around to see if anyone nearby could hear him.

Ed grinned, pushing himself back to stand and tower over the other man. “I’ll tell you the answer next time. Thank you for the cookies, Mr. Penguin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy so many of you are willing to live in sin with me and that I'm not the only one who loves Ed being a creeper. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this installment, and please spare a moment to let me know what you thought in the comments! <3


	3. Chapter 3

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but how did you—” Ed broke off as the limousine pulled up. He turned back to the gate with a grin, at the sniveling sycophant who looked terrified at the approach of the vehicle and who had looked ready to bolt back into the asylum any second. “Nevermind,” he said. The answer was obvious now; Ed was only shocked that he hadn’t considered it sooner.

Ed sauntered to the door, knowing it could be no one other than Oswald. He wasn’t, however, prepared for it to be _Oswald_ greeting him behind the door.

“Hello, old friend,” Oswald said, voice a low purr that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than seductive. And if Ed did somehow make that mistake, he could not misinterpret the rest of the image: Oswald laying down the length of the leather seats, lashes long and lips curled into a smirk. His upper half was obscured by a dense fur shawl that was so light that it almost looked gold, and all Ed could see were smooth legs wrapped in a pair of sheer dark green stockings. The top bands were edged with shallow scalloped lace that was interwoven with gold thread, and there was the smallest exposed strip of skin between the fur. The sight of the long garters that disappeared beneath the fur made Ed’s brain stutter to a halt.

“Are you just going to stand there, Ed, or are you going to come in?” Oswald said, crossing his legs to give Ed a flash of more lace under the fur before he was distracted by the pair of shimmering gold stilettos adorned at the end of Oswald’s feet.

Ed scrambled in, wordless, not sure where to look. He wanted to look everywhere at once. Part of him wondered if he had gone actually mad, that he was still inside his cell because this was--was--

Phenomenal.

The silence must have stretched for too long, because Oswald shifted and ducked his eyes, the first break in his confidence, even as the car started to move. “I wasn’t sure about the heels,” he said, looking down at the accessories in question with the barest hint of nerves. “I can’t walk in them, of course, but I thought you might appreciate the look.”

Ed remained silent, dumbstruck.

Oswald’s expression shifted into one of panic at Ed’s lack of reaction, and he sat up abruptly, hastily trying to cover more of himself with the large fur wrap. “Oh, I thought—I’m an idiot,” he said, stammering an apology as all signs of confidence faded. “I thought we, I mean, I found—nevermind, forget it, Ed, please forgive—”

He was cut off by Ed launching himself forward, pressing his lips against Oswald into a ferocious kiss that was more teeth than lips at first. There was a second of stunned silence before Oswald opened his mouth so Ed could slip his tongue inside, so Ed could taste Oswald for real this time. Oswald’s tongue slid against his own, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through Ed and made him press harder against him. It could have been minutes or hours later when they parted, both breathing heavily and Oswald’s pupils blown wide.

“So, I didn’t misread the situation, then?” Oswald said faintly as Ed started trailing kisses down his neck, slipping his hands underneath the fur to palm at the hot skin underneath. His fingers brushed against the familiar texture of lace, and he traced the path of the silken garters up to the gentle curve of his waist.

“Not at all,” Ed said, suckling a bruise onto Oswald’s neck. Oswald’s skin tasted clean, only the barest taste of salt, and the texture smooth under his tongue.

Oswald giggled. “Don’t you want to see the rest of your present?”

Ed sat back long enough for Oswald to toss the fur wrap onto the ground, revealing the matching green and gold lingerie he wore underneath. It was just as beautiful as the others, swirls of pattern that gave just the right hint of what was underneath. The lace of the bralette was sheer except for the thick embroidery that hid the small, pink nipples that Ed knew were underneath. The garter belt sat high on his waist, the criss-cross of straps only accenting his pale skin and the slightest nip inward of his waist.

Oswald was already hard, his cock straining against the edges of the panties lewdly, which is why it took Ed a moment to notice.

“Are these...question marks?” Ed asked incredulously, running his fingers over the embroidered pattern along the waist of the panties and band of the bralette. They _were_ question marks, sewn in shimmering gold thread in looping swirls against the emerald fabric. Oswald was wearing _his_ mark; he had branded himself as _Ed’s_.

Oswald blushed, and the rosy tinge spread down his neck to his chest, making Ed want to follow it with his tongue. “I thought you might like it,” he said, looking at Ed shyly from under his lashes.

“Let me show you how much I like it,” Ed said, voice a deep growl as he dropped to his knees. He trailed his hand down Oswald’s right leg, fingertips light and teasing.

Oswald squirmed when he reached the ruin of his ankle. “I know it’s not pretty—” Oswald started to say.

Ed pressed a kiss to the ankle in question to interrupt him, stroking it reverently through the stocking. “I’ve seen all of you, remember? And you are the most beautiful creature in the world,” Ed said and meaning every word. Oswald was all the more beautiful for his scars, the small imperfections that made him all the more perfect.

Oswald blushed prettily as Ed carefully slipped his foot out of the heeled shoe, one hand massaging his ankle while Ed dropped a kiss to the bottom of Oswald’s foot, making the man giggle.

He repeated the process with the other, laying the two heels side by side. Ed settled himself on his knees between Oswald’s spread legs, running his hands up the man’s thighs until he reached the lacy tops of the stockings. He smirked at Oswald, bending down to pepper kisses over the open expanse of skin in a way that made the man squirm deliciously. Ed traced the satin straps of the garter, running his fingers up his thighs to his abdomen, feeling Oswald quiver under his touch.

They had barely even touched each other yet really, nothing more than light kisses to skin and touches. Yet, it was the most erotic experience of Ed’s life. He nipped at a nylon covered thigh playfully, sinking his teeth in enough that Oswald’s breath hitched.

“Ed,” Oswald whined, a hand combing through Ed’s hair, tugging gently. “Please.”

Ed ghosted his breath over the man’s straining cock that was pressed flat against his belly, the leaking tip peeking out from the lace hem. “Please, what?” he said, voice low and teasing.

Oswald gave a groan in frustration, arching up and trying to rub himself against Ed to no avail. “Touch me, please. Ed.”

Ed mouthed at Oswald’s cock around the lace, savoring the loud moan he got in return. The texture of the lace against his tongue was strange, but Ed could taste Oswald and the salty pre-come that had soaked through. He pulled the briefs to the side with two fingers so he could get a good look at the man’s arousal, pleased to note the change in length and girth from his previous observation. He licked the tip with the flat of his tongue, swirling the head in his mouth before bobbing experimentally. He closed his lips around the bulging ridge of the head, tonguing curiously at the slit.

Oswald practically screamed, one leg hitching over Ed’s shoulder to wrap messily around Ed’s neck as he tried to force Ed closer, pressing incessantly at the back of Ed’s head.

Ed grinned, holding Oswald’s hips in place with one firm hand. He trailed the other hand down, past his balls and down, intent and desperate to feel Oswald around his fingers, to feel the warmth and tightness and Oswald squealing as he worked him open. He moaned around the cock, having to keep himself from coming then and there, at what he discovered.

He pulled off, looking up at Oswald with a greedy glint in his eye even as he pressed against the flared end of the plug nestled inside him. “Eager, were we?” he said, and Ed felt as if he was going to die from all of the blood rushing to his cock. His pants were uncomfortably tight, his arousal pressing up against the zipper as it begged for freedom.

Oswald huffed, sounding imperious even as breathless and disheveled. “I’m impatient,” he said. “We’ve been flirting for months, and I don’t like to be kept w-waiting.” He stuttered, rocking against Ed’s touch when he pushed the plug in a little deeper. “Ed,” he whined.

Ed pulled Oswald forward, so his ass was off the edge of the seat, pulling aside the lace so he could see the shimmering green rhinestone at the end of the toy. “Color coordinated this too?” he teased, tapping it with his fingernail.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I don’t go halfway on anything,” Oswald said, panting and spreading his legs wider in invitation.

Ed gripped the end of the toy, slowly pulling the glass plug out of Oswald who keened in response. It popped out past the last ring of muscle audibly, and Ed had a moment’s glimpse of Oswald’s insides, the slick red walls that were still wet with lubricant. He growled, wanting more. He pressed it back in, watching how Oswald stretched to accommodate it, holding him open at the broadest part for a second before pushing it in all the way. He repeated it again and again, fascinated by the stretch of Oswald’s body, by the way his clenched around it, and the shake of every muscle.

“Ed, please,” Oswald said, practically in tears. “I need—” Oswald cut off with a cry when Ed thrust the toy back in.

“What do you need, Oswald?” Ed said. He practically ripped off his own clothing, unmindful of the torn buttons or sound of tearing. He shunted down his pants just past his ass, his cock jutting forward with the head practically purple and leaking with pre-come. He stroked himself slowly, biting back a groan even as he rutted against one of Oswald’s stocking covered calves. He squeezed himself at the base, almost to the point of pain, to keep himself from coming too soon.

“I need you to fuck me, Ed,” Oswald said. He groped, blind, for something between the seats before thrusting a half-empty bottle of lubricant into Ed’s hands.

“My pleasure,” Ed said, growling. He tossed aside the toy, uncaring where it landed, even as he upturned the bottle to drizzle a generous amount straight on his cock. The chill of it made him hiss but did nothing to dim his arousal.

Ed leaned up on his knees, not bothering to remove the underwear from Oswald and instead holding it aside. He aimed the tip of his cock to the small pucker of Oswald’s hole, watching it twitch and flex at the pressure. It gleamed, still wet from the toy, and Ed bit his lip as he pressed in, slow.

Ed groaned, pausing when the head was in. Oswald was tighter than he could have ever imagined, hot as a furnace and gripping him like he never wanted to let go.

Oswald squirmed in his seat, wiggling as he tried to take Ed deeper. “More, please,” he whimpered.

“Greedy boy,” Ed growled, holding Oswald still with a firm grip on his hips. He pulled himself out as punishment for the way Oswald cried in frustration at being stopped.

“Ed, please, please,” Oswald said. “Don’t tease me.” His eye makeup was running, the smudge of mascara only lending to his debauched look.

Ed obliged, pushing forward quickly until he was half-buried inside the man before pulling out, repeating the motion to rock gently in and out of the eager body below him.The edge of the lace scraped against his cock with every movement, a delicious extra bit of friction only heightened by the sight of Oswald laying before him, still decked in the small scraps of green and gold. Ed thumbed at one covered nipple before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, teasing.

“Give it to me, Ed,” Oswald said, his voice tinged with frustration and edged with a challenge. “I want it all, give me all of you.”

Ed moaned, trying not to come, but pushed into the hilt in one swift movement, setting off a high pitched scream from Oswald. “Is that what you wanted?” he said into the man’s ear, his voice rough and guttural and foreign.

Oswald nodded eagerly, arching and twisting against Ed. “Yes, yes, fuck, so good, so big,” he murmured, wrapping his legs around Ed’s waist to pull him deeper.

“You are so tight,” Ed said, half-mindless in lust. “It’s like you swallowed me up and never wants to let go.” Ed leaned back, pulling all the way out before pressing in again in one long stroke, repeating it at a maddeningly slow pace. His muscles ached at the slow pace, and Ed could feel the drip of sweat dripping down his back.

Oswald growled, locking his legs around Ed to squeeze him closer and making them both gasp. When Ed repeated the move, just as tortuously slow, Oswald had finally had enough. He pushed Ed back, his good leg flat on his chest to leverage him off and out of Oswald.

Ed stumbled, not expecting the move, and fell back onto the opposite seat. He barely had enough time to figure out what had happened before Oswald was in his lap, reaching behind him so he could sink back down on his cock, taking what he had been wanting.

Oswald threw his head back, groaning in satisfaction. He pressed his lips to Ed’s, kissing him as he slowly rode Ed. “Ed,” he whispered against his lips, a plea.

Ed bit his lower lip, pressing his tongue into the other’s mouth to ravage it. He rested his hands on Oswald’s hips and bucked up, making Oswald howl.

They started a punishing past. Oswald bouncing up and down on Ed’s cock as Ed rocked his hips upward. Ed’s hands drifted back, squeezing Oswald’s ass in his hands, massaging the mounds even as he helped lift the slighter man up and down. His muscles were trembling from the strain, but it didn’t care--he needed this, needed Oswald.

“Come on, Oswald,” Ed said, breathless. “Come on my cock.” He wrapped his hands around Oswald’s cock, twisting his wrist as he messily pumped him in time with Oswald’s erratic movements. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? What you’ve been after? Teasing me all these months like a naughty boy,” Ed murmured, biting the rim of his ear.

Oswald whined, leaning to press his forehead against Ed. “I can’t, I need—” he said.

Ed nodded, setting both hands on his ass again. “I got you,” he said. He thrust up, lifting Oswald up and down in time with his thrusts until the man was a jumbling mess, a mass of yes-yes-like-that-ed-please and yes-so-good-ed. Oswald came with a long scream, coming hard between them and covering the green lace with long, pearly strands of come.

Ed didn’t slow down, pumping up one, two, three more times before he came, smashing his lips into Oswald’s as they shared a messy kiss.

They rocked gently against each other as they caught their breaths, swapping light kisses as their heart rates slowly settled. Ed shifted, muscles finally giving up as he carefully lifted a sluggish Oswald to settle into the space beside him.

Oswald whined as Ed’s softening cock slipped out of him, the wet gush of come dribbling down his thighs and soaking into the top of his stockings. The lace briefs were slightly stretched out, and Oswald murmured drowsily as he straightened himself out before leaning against Ed, head pressed against his chest.

“When did you find them?” Ed asked, lacing their fingers together as he dotted Oswald’s knuckles with kisses after they enjoyed a few moments of contented silence.

“Hm?” Oswald said, heavy-eyed.

“The ones you were wearing when I found you in the woods. How did you find them?” Ed asked, curious about what he had missed in his hiding spot.

Oswald hummed, tracing a line down Ed’s chest. “I had a lot of time to myself while you were at work. I figured grabbing something to read would pass the time, and I thought reading about the native birds of Virginia would be interesting.” Oswald chuckled. “And it _was_ interesting, just not in the way I expected.”

Ed laughed, only to groan in pain at the way it made his muscles pull. It figured that he found the only man who would choose to pick up a book about Virginian birds for entertainment. “And it didn’t bother you? Most people would have been...put off,” Ed said. _Put off_ was an understatement.

Oswald smirked up at Ed. “We are not the common rabble, Edward,” he said, leaning to press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It was honestly flattering, all your notes and tapes and newspaper articles you had on me. And that you kept my underwear—there are only so many reasons a man keeps someone’s lace panties in a hidden safe.” He looked up at Ed, his smirk fading into something softer. “And I wanted to tell you but with everything that was happening, with Galavan and then me going to Arkham…” He trailed off.

“And then _me_ going to Arkham,” Ed finished, nodding a little. It made sense. “And when you sent me the puzzle?”

Oswald’s expression was practically devious, his hand trailing down to palm at Ed’s soft cock. “I thought you might need a little pick-me-up. I was already working on your release by then.”

“You are amazing,” Ed said, breathless. “Amazing, beautiful, perfect.”

Oswald blushed, suddenly shy at being so openly complimented. “The answer, by the way, is gum. To your riddle. What goes in hard and comes out soft? Gum.”

Ed laughed, the warmth in his chest blooming and threatening to take over, and gave him a soft peck on the tip of his nose. “Correct.” He tucked a piece of hair away from Oswald’s face. “So, where are we going anyway?”

“My driver was told to drive in circles until told otherwise,” Oswald said dismissively. “But we’re heading home.”

Home. Ed liked the sound of that. They snuggled against each other in silence again, both satisfied to enjoy the sound of each other’s breathing and feel of each other’s skin finally.

“So,” Ed said, after a while, probing. He needed to know. “Do you always wear lace under your suits?”

Oswald grinned, tossing a leg over his lap to straddle him. “That,” he said as he leaned in for a kiss, “is something you’ll have to find out on your own.”

∞

“I just fixed this!” Oswald screamed, shaking in anger in his chair as Ed kneeled down to examine his leg. Oswald was dressed down to his underwear, the navy blue lace a beautiful contrast to his skin. Oswald’s men stood uncomfortably to the side, some holding weapons, and all attempting to avoid eye contact as Oswald promised pain and murder.

Ed smirked, finishing clearing away the blood with an antiseptic wipe. All of Oswald’s men were terrified of him, but a decent portion of his followers were with him for the same reason Ed was—because he was a stunning creature when he was like this. More than once, Ed had seen one of his men’s eyes linger too long on Oswald, saw how their eyes would trace along his backside as he walked away or how their eyes would linger when the man swept through City Hall in nothing but his sleepwear. He had been favoring sheer robes lately, long and dramatic and hiding very little of what was underneath. Even now, with his men milling around, Ed had no doubt many of them were sporting uncomfortable hard-ons.

“It’s only a graze, Oswald,” he said matter-of-factly as he wrapped it carefully with clean gauze. “Should heal fine. As long as you exercise it through the healing process, it shouldn’t affect your gate.”

Oswald wasn’t listening, still screaming about murdering Jim Gordon.

Ed looked up at him fondly, shifting so he was kneeling between Oswald’s knees and running both his hands up Oswald’s bare highs until they reached the crimped edge of the lace. By the time he was licking a long stripe up Oswald’s stomach, he had quieted.

Ed heard the shuffle of footsteps and murmurs as the room cleared out, snatches of conversation reaching his ears, a mix of _not again_ or _hot-fucking-damn_ that made Ed grin as he pressed the heel of his hand on Oswald hardening cock.

“You know you don’t need to do these little displays of possession, right? Everyone knows I’m yours,” Oswald said, waving his hand in demonstration to indicate the large emerald ring on his finger.

Ed laughed. “Oh, I know. But did you really expect that you could walk around like this without consequences?” He nipped at Oswald’s thigh, thumb brushing a nipple that was hidden underneath the lace top. How Oswald kept himself stocked with lingerie even months into No Man’s Land was just another riddle that Ed would love to solve.

Oswald growled, pulling Ed up until the taller man was straddling his husband’s lap. “Why do you think I did it?” he teased, nibbling along Ed’s neck.

Ed leaned down to kiss him, already pulling off his tie. _Hot-fucking-damn_ , indeed.

  
_Art by[Filthycasual.](https://filthycasualfanfic.tumblr.com/)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this sordid little tale comes to an end. I hope everyone enjoyed and found this...titillating. ;) Please spare a moment to let me know what you thought in the comments! (Also, thank you to filthycasual for the [delicious art](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/665753163714003015/678064661077164042/image0.png) of Oswald. 
> 
> (Also, it becomes a tradition that every time Ed gets released/broken out of Arkham, Oswald greets him like this. At one point, Batman, suspecting something nefarious, opens the limo door before Ed makes it out of Arkham. Oswald doesn't even get up, just lays there, smirking, and greets Batman with a sultry, _hey soldier_. Batman promptly shuts the door, goes home to Alfred, and tries to drink away the memory. Every time from then on, Penguin greets Batman with the same _hey soldier_ , that makes him stumble and blush no matter how many times it happens. 
> 
> Ed hates it too and uses every opportunity to show Batman that Oswald is _his_. Bruce regrets everything. Selina thinks it is hilarious.)


End file.
